


Postscript

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn't think he'd live to see the end of the war, but he has. Fusion with Pacific Rim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postscript

**Author's Note:**

> Probably makes little sense if you haven't watched _Pacific Rim_. Either way, it isn't meant to be an accurate fusion, I just thought this specific character mapping would be amusing.

En route to the infirmary, Dean makes a stop at the hangar to look up at the war clock.   
  
The stillness of it – the lack of numbers running alongside blood and sweat and adrenaline – is still shocking. The fact that he finds it so is why Dean keeps looking at it, will keep on looking at it again and again and again, until every part of him understands. They did it. The portal is closed. Everything they’ve worked for has found the endpoint Dean had almost been too afraid to wish for.   
  
Dean stares at the line of zeroes, willing them to move into the part of his lizardbrain that’s been on high alert for over a decade now.  
  
It’ll take a while, he knows.  
  
What he  _can_  accept, and willingly accepts, is that Sam is okay. The near-suicide mission to the Breach had its unexpected loopholes and spat out more survivors than any of them hoped for. Sam is not in the bottom of the ocean, the  _Whiskey Crisis_  his final coffin. He is in the infirmary, and if Dean walks a little faster than he get there and reconfirm that fact.  
  
The infirmary is quieter now, the less crucial patients moved out and back on-shore. Sam has his own cordoned-off area, and when Dean slips behind the divider he finds his brother awake and staring blearily at the television screen on the wall.  
  
“Hey,” Dean says.  
  
“Hey.” Sam’s smile is tired but genuine. “Back so soon?”  
  
“Amelia only said I had to get a shower and a meal, and I did both,” Dean replies easily. “Letter of the law, kid.”  
  
“Mm, yes, that makes me feel so much better,” Sam murmurs. “How’s the arm?”  
  
“S’better than your face.”  
  
Sam laughs, the sound soft and hoarse through a too-dry mouth. It’s more about the drugs they’ve got him on than actual injury, thank goodness. They can afford to be more generous now and, besides, if you can’t spoil your war heroes with decent meds then what’s the point?   
  
“Not the hero, Dean,” Sam protests. “Just helped.”  
  
“You’re too tired to argue, shut up.” Dean fixes the blanket around him, pointedly ignoring Sam’s eye roll. This is a good conclusion, Dean reminds himself. It looks worse than it is, and Dean knows better than anyone that Sam’s tough as nails and will be walking around again in no time.  
  
What’s bothering him, of course, is that every time Sam’s ended up like this, Dean’s always taken on on his fair share of the cuts and bruises.   
  
Sam seems to read it off his face, because he says, “Was weird not having you there.”  
  
“Was hella weird watching the action from a monitor,” Dean agrees. “But that was some tough moves you pulled together, people are going to be talking about that for years. And going in cold? I don’t even know how Cas managed to deal with  _your_  brain plugged into his.”  
  
“I’m the sensible one,” Sam says. “But it was okay, he’s as stubborn as you, it all balanced out.”  
  
“Yeah, and what matters is that he brought you back,” Dean says. “I owe him.”  
  
Of course that fucking idiot would do it again, dragging the  _Whiskey Crisis_  out from the hot zone when Sam had been half-delirious and useless from the fight with the Level 5. Just a breath in the other direction and Dean might’ve had to start hating Cas for life, though just after he’d hate himself for busting his arm when it counted.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam says, blinking groggily. “And he… uh. He likes you. Thought you might want to know.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, and thank fuck I like him too, or it would’ve been a damn sight harder letting him take my spot.” Dean still doesn’t know how Cas talked him into it; crucial mission or not, switching out one pilot is damn unheard of without training let alone acclimatization time, and for good reason. That’s Cas for you, the pushy bastard, but that’s why he runs the program and Dean’s just a ranger.  
  
“No, Dean.” Sam narrows his eyes, going as intense as a drug-high pilot can manage post-battle. “He really  _likes_  you. Was hard to ignore.”  
  
Dean’s first reaction is: the  _shit_ , Sam. You don’t use the Drift to take out your co-pilot’s secrets to use as currency. That’s not right in a freaking _world_  of not right, and he and Sam grew up knowing that ‘cause Mom and Dad were the best damn Jaeger pilots on the Western seaboard and they’d had to live with first-hand knowledge of how even a sliver of betrayal in or out of cockpit can be enough to send a mission crashing down.  
  
Dean’s second reaction is:  _oh._  
  
“You shouldn’t have told me that,” Dean says, as gently as he can.  
  
“Why not?” Sam asks.  
  
Dean sighs, shaking his head at Sam’s beady-eyed confusion. No doubt in Sam’s drug-addled mind it makes sense. They’re co-pilots that go into each other’s heads on a regular basis, and if Sam knows something, then so does Dean, no matter that he’d shared this particular tidbit outside a neural handshake. Dammit.  
  
“Maybe you should go back to sleep,” Dean says. “Before you start oversharing more crap.”  
  
“You like my oversharing crap.” Sam whines when Dean reaches for him, messing up his hair. “Don’t do that, I helped save the world, go away.”  
  
“You get better now, kid,” Dean orders.  
  
“You’re not the boss of me,” Sam says, smiling groggily at him. “We don’t need to fight anymore.”  
  
+  
  
Dean has it on good authority that Castiel had been in the infirmary as well, but removed himself as soon as the opportunity arose. It’s been years since Cas last rode a Jaeger, but old habits die hard it seems.  
  
A couple of questions to the right people, and Dean tracks Cas down to the training room. He’s not alone, though, so Dean stays quietly just beyond the doorway, watching while Cas talks to Claire and Kevin.   
  
The young pair isn’t so much as touching shoulders, but they might as well have their arms around each other.  
  
A successful Drift is an accomplishment in itself, but there are those that wind so deep they don’t stop even when you step outside a cockpit. Right now even non-rangers can see how Claire and Kevin are synced up, calm and self-assured with the knowledge that someone has their back in every way possible. If they were Dean’s – if Dean had been the one to see Kevin fall and bring him back from the brink, and been the one to raise Claire all his own until he could trust them both enough to allow her to pilot one herself… Dean doesn’t know what he’d do. Bawl like a fucking baby, maybe, because in the end of days these were the miracles that saved them all.  
  
But Cas isn’t Dean, so he just gives them a quiet speech, shakes both their hands, and dismisses them with an incline of his head.  
  
Kevin nods at Dean when he passes. Kevin’s eyes are clear, and despite the grime and the buzz cut and general wear ‘n tear, Dean can see the hotshot pilot he’d been years ago. Fucking miracles, indeed.  
  
Claire lingers a little longer, turning back to address her foster father with something else. Again it’s too soft for Dean to hear, but he’s surprised when Claire reaches up, taking Cas into a hug that takes him a moment to reciprocate. Claire doesn’t seem to mind, though, and just squeezes tighter before letting go.  
  
“Dean?” Cas says, finally noticing him. Claire drops back down to her feet, craning around to look at him. “Did you need something?”  
  
“Uh, five minutes of your time?” Dean says.  
  
“It’s okay,” Claire says quietly. “See you later?”  
  
“Get some rest,” Cas says firmly. “It’s going to be a more tiring than you think.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Claire replies.  
  
Dean gives Claire a little salute when she passes. Her eyes are as bright as Kevin’s, the hunger she’d been carrying around this place for months finally quenched. It’s a pity there’s no more kaiju around for her to whoop ass (knock on wood), but Dean has the feeling she’ll find something else soon enough to channel that drive of hers.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Cas asks once Claire’s gone.  
  
“Really?” Dean replies, stepping into the training room to join him. “There’s only one person in this room who’s been in a fight in the past 24 hours, and it’s not me.”   
  
“I can rest once Claire and Kevin are ready for what comes next.” Cas tugs at his cuffs, visibly annoyed at the bandages that are in the way. “They’ll need to rely on each other and remember what brought them here, together.”  
  
“Fear the parades and tabloids?” Dean says.  
  
“They’re going to be iconized. They need to be ready for that. Plus the inevitable pull downwards after.”  
  
“You’d know about that, huh.”  
  
Cas looks at him sharply. Dean almost laughs; he doesn’t know why he expected Cas to be different after they won. Still the same scowl and hard line of his mouth, still the same sharp suits and ties and shirts buttoned all the way up to his neck, never mind that the walls seem to drip grime on everyone else in the Shatterdome.   
  
“Is Sam all right?” Cas asks. When Dean nods, he adds, “You should look after him.”  
  
“How about you?”  
  
Cas huffs under his breath. “I have some calls to make. If there’s nothing important—”  
  
“There is, actually.”   
  
How long has this been coming? Years now, Dean realizes. Years of fighting with and against each other, of saving and losing people, of watching cities crumble and rise up in stubborn determination. It’s having Sam at his side and Cas’ voice in his ear, it’s Cas pulling all the rangers together when no one else gave a fuck, it’s Cas sneaking  _Whiskey Crisis_  off-shore for them the moment they got decommissioned, it’s Cas standing over Dean’s hospital bed more times that he could count but never saying anything worth saying.   
  
All Dean knows is that when the world goes to hell you can count on Cas to watch your back, hold you up, shout at you until you get a grip and remember that there are things worth fighting for. Dean and Sam keep each in check, but Cas is the constant that everyone turns to and is confident enough to take for granted. He’s a rock and a fearsome motherfucker, and Dean loves him for it, but he wishes he could take off Cas’ armour once, just  _once_.  
  
For now Dean settles for coming in, hopefully too fast for Cas to react with all his injuries, and kisses him. Firmly, because years of watching and wanting and knowing it could never go anywhere with the war going means that there’s no need to fuck around when a real chance is put in Dean’s lap.  
  
Cas’ mouth is dry underneath Dean’s. Then he moves, Cas turning away to give Dean his cheek instead. “Sam told you,” he says.  
  
“Wanted to do that before,” Dean admits, back up. “Almost did, before you went out with Sam.”  
  
Cas blinks rapidly in surprise. “Oh.”  
  
“Decided not to, in case it’d mess things up.” Dean wonders how badly he might’ve been regretting that if Sam came back alone instead. “Remember what you said to me when we first met?”  
  
That gets a small smile out of Cas. “Before or after you punched me?”  
  
“After,” Dean laughs. God, those early days feel like a hundred years ago. The remains of the  _Impala Silver_  had barely cooled before Cas came to him, asking for blessing to use the salvageable parts to build a new Jaeger. Cas always did prefer efficiency to tact, and at the time Dean never thought that one day it’d become one of his favorite things about Cas.  
  
“I expressed my condolences,” Cas says.  
  
“No,” Dean. “You said, and I quote, ‘ _Good things do happen, Dean_.’ It was the worst thing to say at the time, but you weren’t wrong. Good things do happen, and we gotta  _make_  them happen.”  
  
Cas concedes this with a quick nod.  
  
“And this?” Dean reaches for Cas with his good hand, catching the lapel of Cas’ stupidly perfect jacket. No one else would dare touch him this way, but no one else has had drinks with him at 3 in the morning while they quietly exchanged confessions about their fears – about Claire and Sam, the corps, the world. Dean says, “This is me making a good thing happen.”  
  
Dean told himself that he’d wait until it all ended. He’d wait until it wouldn’t compromise their missions, wouldn’t put Sam or anyone else in danger, wouldn’t make Cas second-guess their performance out in the field. Well, this is it, and since Dean never got to risk his damn life one final time taking out the Breach, then he’s going to risk something else right now.  
  
“I actually do have calls to make,” Cas confesses. “Just because the clock’s stopped doesn’t meant there isn’t work to do around here.”  
  
“Oh,” Dean says.  
  
“I’ll take this under advisement.” Cas’ scowl is familiar and comforting, and is not at all an appropriate warning for how Cas then takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses the hell out of him.  
  
Dean grunts in surprise, though the rest of him’s obviously quicker to react because his mouth opens obediently under Cas’, and his good hand immediately finds Cas’ arm to latch on to and hold on.  
  
Yes, Jesus fucking Christ  _this_  is a kiss,  _this_  is what Dean thought Cas would be like when he allowed himself to let go, holy shit. Dean kisses him back, frantically trying to keep up with the demanding press of Cas’ lips and tongue, while his mind screams a litany of  _I knew it, I fucking knew it_.  
  
They gave up so much for the Defense Corps. Every single thing was worth it, Dean knows this right down to his bones, but he sometimes mourns for who he might’ve been, for the life Sam might’ve had. This is something Cas knows well enough, despite the illusion that he lives and breathes for the Corps, and pressed up against Dean’s body is the furious evidence in desire for things long denied them both.  
  
Just as sudden as it started, it stops. Dean sways a little, dazed like a goddamn kaiju just socked him in the gut. Cas feels it too, though it takes him a second to steel himself and wrest back his control. Dean feels a pang at the sight of it, but then Cas’ eyes soften and he touches Dean’s cheek.  
  
Dean smiles at the touch. “Knew there was something in the way you looked at me.”  
  
“No, you didn’t,” Cas replies, amusement in his voice. “You suspected, but you didn’t know.”  
  
“Wish I got to Drift with you,” Dean blurts out.  
  
Cas laughs a little, shaking his head. “You already know me better than anyone else. Which is something I’ve… not let myself to be comfortable with.”  
  
“I want you to be,” Dean says fiercely. “I want… I want you to…”  
  
“You deserve everything you want, Dean.” Cas is still petting his cheek, thumb moving teasingly against the grain. The touch is sure and surprisingly soft, and the promise has Dean’s toes tingling in their boots. “If that includes me, then I’ll make it happen.”  
  
“Gee, Cas, don’t go out of your way now.” There’s no point in resisting temptation, so Dean leans in, pulling Cas into one-armed hug. He owes Cas this one, since Dean had been too busy tending to Sam after the final mission to acknowledge the sheer importance of Cas’ survival. Hopefully Cas has an idea, now.  
  
“Holy shit Cas, we did it.” Dean’s next breath is shaky, and Cas’ arms tighten around him. “Holy  _shit_.”  
  
“Yes,” Cas says firmly. That’s the tone of voice he could use to command the goddamned earth to stand still, and in this moment, for Dean, it actually does.   
  
No more running numbers, no more running.


End file.
